Three Fluid Graces
by finite
Summary: SLASH- mild m/m (Ron/Harry) A night in the dormitory


A/N: WARNING: This contains some SLASH material.  
  
Ha! Now that you have been warned, you can only blame yourself for getting offended.  
  
  
For mon petit BTSF  
  
  
  
  
Three Fluid Graces   
  
  
Harry peaked around the drapes surrounding his bed. They blocked out a lot: light, noise, reality. Behind the defence Harry could take refuge during the night; he could think and fantasise without feeling guilty. All his restraint left on the other side. He felt a certain liberty, with the faraway stars and silent presence of the sky casting uncertain channels of light and shadow through the half-open window.   
  
He gazed at the adjacent bed; a block of darkness absorbing the insubstantial glow. It must have been early in the morning, judging by the inconsistency of definable colour- a range of moth purples and milky greys, fading confusedly into smoky black. He blinked in an attempt to make something of the blurs, his eyes still resting in the direction of Ron's hidden presence.   
  
A muffled noise broke his thoughts.   
  
Was it Neville again? Another nightmare?  
  
Harry strained his ears and listened into the silence. After a moment he heard another noise, comprehensible as a sob. He flicked his over to Ron's bed again. A louder sob this time, confirmed his theory.   
  
Harry reached over to his bedside table and withdrew his glasses. The soft clinking it made as it hit the edge of the table, caused the background sniffling to stop abruptly. It was too silent.  
  
He shifted his weight and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. The drapes were pulled aside as he pushed himself off, and stumbled sleepily across the floor, to close the space between the two beds. The unnatural silence continued- baited breath and vague suspense.   
  
"Ron?"  
  
The absence of noise answered him.  
  
"Ron? Are you awake?" He whispered, pulling back the drapes to reveal Ron lying motionless on his side, facing away from Harry.   
  
The complete stillness only served to tell Harry clearly, that Ron was pretending. There was no customary rise and fall of a chest accustomed to peaceful sleep, no contented sighs. Not that Harry knew of course. Not that Harry came to watch Ron sleep three or four times a week.   
  
Harry reached out to pull back Ron's arm so that he was forced to roll over on his back.   
  
"Uh…Harry. Didn't know you were awake." Ron said casually, though the puffy red eyes betrayed his state. He sat up.  
  
"What's wrong?" Harry said as he sat beside his friend.  
  
"Oh, nothing…well…actually, Blythe and I broke up."  
  
Harry didn't know what to say. Ron looked up, his pale face the aftermath of long, intense tears.   
  
"I'm gonna kill her." He said finally, to a shocked Ron. Fury flickered viciously across his eyes.   
  
Ron stared in disbelief. Was Harry really that angry? It was only a teenage relationship- only a teenage break-up. It was as inevitable as night proceeding day, and the changing of seasons. So what did that mean? Harry was being irrational- his own speciality, not Harry's.  
  
"What did she say to you? Was it someone else? When? How?"  
  
Ron continued to stare in wonder.   
"Ummm, Harry…you don't quite understand. I wasn't…I mean…"  
  
Ron swallowed. He couldn't tell him, could he? He reached up to touch Harry's glasses. Harry gasped unconsciously.   
  
Ron slid them off Harry's nose and started to fiddle with them absently, while saying.  
  
"Harry? Do you still like Cho?"  
  
Harry looked confused. He had really liked Cho- why wouldn't you? She was clever, pretty and funny. But that was last year- a long time to someone as immature as Harry was. He was such a boy at heart; he was innocent and helpless and warm.   
  
"I haven't really thought about her for a long time…so I suppose not."  
  
Harry blushed slightly, thinking about whom he actually saw himself with.  
  
They lapsed into an easy quiet. Ron continued to fiddle with the black glasses in his lap.  
  
He wanted to tell Harry about Blythe. He wanted to say that…  
  
"She always seemed so nice."  
  
"Yes, she is." Ron agreed.  
  
"She is?"  
  
Ron took a deep breath.  
  
"Harry, we broke up over a month ago."  
  
"You what!"  
  
"It was a mutual thing."  
  
"So…so, why the tears?" Harry asked with some discomfort at finding his best friend crying for no apparent reason.  
  
"We broke up, because we both wanted different things." Ron gave a slight humourless smile…knowing what the different thing was to him.  
  
"She found someone else, didn't she? I knew it."  
  
"Well, we both found other people."  
  
"Oh? Who?" Harry asked in a nonchalant tone.  
  
"You know Ben Davies from Ravenclaw."  
  
"You're gay?!"  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"I meant for Blythe."  
  
"Oh." Harry said, letting out his breath.  
  
"But, yes."  
  
"Yes what?"  
  
"Yes, I am gay."  
  
"Oh……OH!"  
  
Ron screwed up his eyes, prepared for the worst.  
  
When he risked a peek, Harry was reaching out for his glasses.  
  
Ron's hand jerked upwards in a reflex action, and their skin touched for a second.  
  
They both blushed into the darkness.  
  
"You ok with it Ha…??"  
  
But Ron's sentence would be forever unfinished, because with a fluid movement, Harry leant forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.  
  
Ron didn't know how to react, except to allow Harry to kiss him with his sweet, chaste offering.  
  
Harry's hands were on both sides of Ron's crossed legs, imprinting two dips in the airy duvet. Ron automatically extended his arms to place his hands on Harry's warm neck. This shifted the balance, and before either of them could think, Harry had fallen forward, landing on top of Ron.  
  
They had not broken the kiss.  
  
After an age, Harry pulled away.   
  
They were both breathless- both smiling.  
  
Wordless, Harry clambered off Ron's bed. He pulled the covers over his friend, drew the drapes and got into his own bed, smiling all the while.  
  
There was feeling of peace, spreading outwards like a fluid, with Harry, Ron and their contented thoughts as the epicentre. The mothy purples had a dream-like quality to them now. Like a childhood fairytale or dim remembered melody. Quiet.  
  
Then a whisper…  
  
"Goodnight Ron"  
  
"…Night Harry."  
  
  
  
  
A/N That was pure fluff…just a bridge between chapters of 'Surreal??'  
  
I hope you didn't throw up.  
  
The title is from a Dali called 'Enchanted Beach with Three Fluid Graces' (1938). It is one of his more light-hearted, whimsical pieces.   
  
Thank you to those who reviewed my other fics. *hugs*   
  
~finite  
  
  
HOGWARTS LIBRARY: The Restricted Section  
www.geocities.com/hogwartslibrary4  
  
Oh go on.  
  



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